tootling along the information superhighway in a morris minor with a flask of tea and a map


a weird thing seems to happen to this blog. maybe it’s a coincidence, or maybe is becoming a thing?

i hadn’t heard of it until i was namechecked on twitter as a contributer. the first time i wrote it off as a freak event, but now i have been featured in two different ones! the first time it was a guy who is a labour politician in scotland who was following me on twitter, but seems to have changed his mind now, and then the other day a disability rights & green activist did the same. both of them put blog posts of mine under ‘stories’ in their paper, which is quite nice, since i think i am more of a colour supplement kind of a person than a newsy one. i am also quite liking the spread of my apparent appeal – leftie and green? why not.

although, that said, i do follow textsfromhillaryclinton on tumblr, so i feel that i am as well informed about current affairs as i need to be. there’s no need to overdo these things. once you are a bit informed it seems to me you only need a little bit of topping up.

and i am culturally aware enough to know that this is a ‘mashup’ and even – get this –  what of. so it’s almost as though i am part of the world and everything. mind you i would never have known about fuckyeahryangosling if not for feministryangosling being featured in the guardian and therefore my facebook feed. sometimes it’s a close call as to whether i am all over le dernier cri of contemporary culture or hopelessly out of the loop. it’s like living on a DAMN RAZOR’S EDGE you know.

at least i am at home on the internets, that’s all i can say. residents of the information superhighway need only a flask of tea and a map, and it’s all go. talking of maps, this, just in, from @mockducka map of all the places mentioned in nick cave’s book the death of bunny monroe

i’ve not read it, have any of you? is it good? i like his lyrics, so might be tempted to give it a look. i am pretty familiar with brighton, but any fans who aren’t might really like to peel the little man off and have a skoot around this map. it’s a great idea, right?

dotty headbanger has made another award. here it is. shiny, no? i like how the awards look on the mantlepiece of my blog, i have to say.

as you can see, it’s for being brilliant, which i will own. though it’s not for any specific brilliance on my part, more just because. and really, what better reason than because is there?

alright, here’s the real story, and a NEW award to go with it. i am awarding dotty headbanger a brand new sneakyfucker award for creating an award to get people to click the LIKED button on the post she uses as her front page. if you click through you will see just how effective this shockingly brazen strategy really has been. see all the gravatars! see how many likes! BRIBERY, my friends, that is what we respond to.

so, without further ado, here is the new sneakyfucker award

the laughing fox award for the sneaky use of awards.

this is getting so self referential i’m expecting to create a worm hole right about now.

dial a disc


today’s tumblr post;

photo by leo reynolds

this is the dial of a uk red phone box from THE OLDEN DAYS. not only were there no mobile phones, but also BT were a state monopoly, and it was expensive to get a phone line, and they would take ages to put one in, so if you were living anywhere less than permanent then it wasn’t worth having one put in. so, as a student, for example, away from home from age 19, i’d have to go to a public phone to call home. i also had a big crush on a boy back home so i phoned him, too. even though they were outdoors, people would queue for ages – i know because it was me holding them up. i remember some woman opening the door and giving me an earful. i just thought “bugger off” and carried on with my VITAL chit chat.

i remember the feeling of my nail scraping along quickly inside the dial, the sound as it slowly clicked backwards. the stopper was rather sharp and cold. domestic dial phones were plastic, so a different feel.

people often pissed in phone boxes, but even without that, there was the cigarette smoke and the damp metal. and the glass on the box would steam up in the cold.

by the time i moved to liverpool for art school proper i had graduated to using pay phones in pubs. much cozier. they still had those dials, though, until the push button ones came in.

i offer this, then, as my madeleine, my proustian moment. seeing this photo fills my nose with the smell of the phone box, makes my left index finger fizz in that nails on chalkboard way, and i can taste a metallic taste on the front of my upper palate. my nostrils want to contract in defense of the smell. and i am reminded of our appalling diet at the time – chips with sweet and sour sauce, bread seconds from greggs, and a soup i called ‘square soup’ which was really just a jumped up gravy cube.